Harry Potter and His Tragic Youth
by Ashes of Stars
Summary: An orphan, who is raised by Rita Skeeter, finds himself confused and lonely in his first year at Hogwarts. Can demons be fought alone, when Harry finds his best friend in Slytherin and himself in Ravenclaw?
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything the books claim. JK Rowling owns the rights to Harry Potter. This is not making money.

**Summary: **_A challenge from Fei-sama. The challenge was to create a story where Harry is raised by Rita Skeeter, is powerful and is not friends with Hermione or Ginny. _Harry is raised by Rita Skeeter, and in turn with being brought up in the Wizarding world is smart, well dressed and almost the coolest kid on campus. Harry is respected and envied; it seems he has the perfect life. But his horrid past can only lead to a horrid future and without his most treasured friend by his side, can Harry rid the demons on his own?

**Pairings: **Harry/Draco. Harry/Cedric. Some other Harrycentric pairings might occur, however this is under Harry/Draco and that is the main pairing ultimately. That's what you came for, right?

* * *

"…You have done many things I deem unacceptable, Albus, and I have ignored everyone until now; giving you the benefit of the doubt! But this… this Albus is simply ridiculous!" Minerva sucked in what seemed like miles of breath, as she thought over the rant she had just given her superior, Albus Dumbledore. Over the past weeks leading up to this moment, where she stood fuming in his office at Hogwarts and he sat smiling calmly, he had been as busy as a meddling bee and all his curious actions had not gone unnoticed by Minerva's watchful eyes.

"If you sit, dear Minerva, I will explain to you exactly why I feel it is completely acceptable that Harry should be taken into care by Ms. Skeeter." Dumbledore smiled caringly, whether to Minerva or his winning one wouldn't know, and nodded happily as his companion sat in the chair allocated for his guests. By the look on Minerva's face, one would be able to tell she was rather infuriated with Albus' incessant wisdom and how even the most impossible things could be accomplished by the man, because to him nothing was so impossible.

A few moments went by in silence, after Minerva sat herself in the chair so comfortable, to anyone unaware of the alluring charm, it would seem nothing could be wrong in that office what-so-ever. Misdeeds were not something Albus Dumbledore chose to meddle in; Minerva knew that well after the forty years she had spent as his colleague, however she suddenly became shifty under her skin as she realised how drawn in she was already becoming in that office; all her protests were beginning to be forgotten and angry she was becoming at even the nicest thing Dumbledore had done to items in his room.

She removed the charm on the chair promptly, before sitting up straighter and doing something she had taught herself not to do to the old man. "Albus, I demand at once you tell me exactly why you intend to place Harry Potter; The-Boy-Who-lived with none other than the most lurid rumourmonger this country has ever seen!"

Albus took a sip of his tea, his actions bidding Minerva to fall short of her temper once again, however in the time it took to seem like his sip of tea was taking years; it was over. Albus admitted he had a funny way about him; he just never divulged what that funny way was. "Minerva, if you wouldn't mind calming down." Albus replied subdued and firmly, "Well, my reasons are simple. As you know, whilst little Harry has been in the care of my granddaughter Isabella, we have been watching the only living family he has left; night, day and everything between that. You, yourself said it would be a bad choice to place Harry with the muggles even when I said it would be good to keep him away from all the fame and glorification, that will be placed upon him."

Minerva nodded, glad that Albus had taken in what she had said. Albus continued, "I have seen a glow of things untoward around that house; something I do not believe one of us has ever seen before. I have a notion that to place him with the Dursley's would end up with Harry being much like old Tom himself." Minerva gasped at the realisation that Albus was once again right.

"But Albus, wouldn't Isabella take care of Harry? Couldn't we place him with someone like the Weasleys? Molly would be only to happy to take in another"

Albus cut Minerva off- "Minerva dear, I wouldn't place another mouth to feed on Molly's table, even if it was the only real option. Fortunately, for everyone involved in this, rather special, case it isn't the only option we have. And as you know Isabella has her own children; it wouldn't be fair."

"Then why place Harry with Ms. Skeeter, of all people Albus?" Minerva asked snappily.

"If Harry was to grow up with the most respected journalist in Britain's wizarding society, do you not think the untrue rumours of him would cease to exist?"

Minerva's eyes widened substantially, "You really believe she wouldn't use that opportunity to write-… to publicise Harry's day to day life?"

"Honestly Minerva, you think I haven't already thought of that? Ms. Skeeter, although a little barmy at times, is a loyal person to those she loves. Mrs. Potter showed great liking to Rita whilst at school together, and not many know that Rita is Harry's godmother, following her brief marriage with Sirius Black."

"Harry is probably already with Ms. Skeeter now, isn't he?" Minerva sighed, knowing the stars moved around Dumbledore before they showed themselves to the rest of the world. She would give up if she wasn't right, and it seemed she wasn't. And even though the predicament was something of a farce, she knew she would have to accept it. Even though she now had just as much say in Harry's life as Dumbledore did, they both being high members of the Order, she knew that her role as a demi-guardian of Harry's was ceased when the impossibilities Dumbledore thrived on became possible.

"I won't go through with this without your approval, Minerva. I don't think it right that Harry's guardians disagree on where to place him. Is there anything else you object too?" Dumbledore asked slyly.

Minerva huffed, showing her disapproval but shook her head all the same. "If you think it's for the best, who am I to disagree?"

XaXaXa

Little Harry Potter had no babyish twinkle in his green eyes; he wasn't curious like the rest of the one year olds Isabella Dumbledore-Greenport knew, or had known, over the course of her life time. If Harry heard a loud noise he would turn his head around slowly, and quite unlike a child of his age, would narrow his eyes to slits at the source of noise. Harry seemed almost fearless in his exploration of life; and gave off a sense of being on this planet before; but that wasn't the case at all. Harry Potter had been cheated out of the privilege of parents, and his young mind could only register that his mother and father weren't there to dote, hold or coo him anymore. Little Harry Potter missed the attention from his parents and anyone that came to be around him following the weeks of his parents death, would be able to see how the loss of Lilly and James was apparent in Harry's eyes, in his aurora and in his lack of curiosity. Harry would not cry about his loss though; he had barely cried before his parents death and that trait had followed the changed Harry on and his little mind would not let him cry; he just didn't register that, or understand it at all.

Heartbreaking it was to see little Harry, who aged so much before his time. Isabella was concerned about whether Harry would ever survive his loss; whether the evil which caused the destruction of little Harry's life was enough to change him for worse or better. Isabella hoped it was the latter; after all she had grown quite fond of the small boy over the weeks she took care of him, and if it wasn't for the love Harry seemed to reject from her, she would have taken him in herself. Her granddaddy, Professor Dumbledore of Hogwarts, had rightfully told her that there were people who were tied by family bonds to Harry, and that they had first refusal on taking him in or not.

Little Harry Potter, Isabella found, liked music; often swaying with emotionless eyes to the sounds coming from her magical radio. Whenever she took Harry into the family room, she would put on the radio so he could play absentmindedly to the music, and when she took little Harry for a bath she would always bring the radio with her, as it seemed Harry preferred to listen to the words, notes, voices then play with Isabella's little girls bath toys. Harry didn't pay any mind to Lillifer when she was around, and Lillifer tended not to pay Harry any mind either, even though they were the same age, almost, and very much alike in some aspects. This worried Isabella somewhat, because it seemed Harry was detached from society as well as reality; he granddaddy had reassured her though, that Harry was silently suffering, as a baby can only do, with his mother and fathers deaths.

The only time Isabella saw Harry smile, with a twinkle in his eye, was when his distant godmother turned up to collect him; Harry was going away that day. Isabella was heartbroken that he was leaving, that he was happy to get away and that she might not see him for a very long time. She held no embarrassment about crying in front of the softened Rita Skeeter, in fact she let go of all her stability the second Rita turned up. She was wary about handing Harry over, from her feminine arms, as she chatted with Rita as best she could; however it seemed Rita couldn't be more honest about her intentions to love Harry like she was his mother.

"I can't have children myself," Rita admitted, slightly forlorn by that revelation, "But I will treat Harry like he is my own." Isabella nodded at the flamboyantly dressed woman, whose blonde hair was as bright as her personality.

And then Harry did something that surprised Isabella to the core, and she couldn't help breaking out into a heart hurting smile; Harry reached out towards Rita who eagerly went to take him from Isabella's grasp. Harry giggled when Rita cooed over him, and clung to her silk green scarf. "Can I come visit him sometime?" Isabella asked, eagerly and not caring whether she showed it or not.

"Of course you can…" Rita replied walking towards the door, "Of course you can…" She said once more before disappearing with little Harry Potter in her arms; happy and bouncy for the first time in what was nearly a month. Isabella only recovered from the heartache that was bestowed upon her by Harry's sadness when she realised the small child had wanted to desperately move on from his horrid past, and by being in Isabella's house he was reminded daily of all the things he had seen that fateful night. Little Harry Potter had not come away unscathed from the battle that took place in his former home; he had a scar on his forhead in the shape of a lightening bolt to prove that. But he did come away wiser, saddened but wiser none-the-less. Now all he needed to do was recover and forget for a while.

With Rita he could do that. With Isabella it was going to be hard.


	2. Magic unleashed

Disclaimers always apply.

_One_

Little Harry Potter was beginning to look not so little and his mother, Rita, didn't let this go unnoticed. She had begun fussing over the smart ten year old manically, ever since his tenth birthday. To add to the insanity, she had begun, in an even more barmy way than normal, buying him heinous amounts of new clothes, making sure he studied hard for his upcoming schooling, (which he would have done anyway), and also made mental notes to take him out in public, which always made Harry a little nervous because people always looked at him funny. His mother had fully explained to Harry why he was being stared at, but it made no sense to him still; he just wanted to be a normal boy, with a normal back ground. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you saw it, Harry was kept out of the speculation circle with the papers and magazines due to his mother being a high journalist, and having lawyers slap bills on Harry causing anything to be written about him up for immediate suing on behalf of Rita, and the right to land those that wrote about him in jail. Currently, there was only one approved history book with his name in it, and the only place to read about that was at Hogwarts.

Harry led a very quiet life, with his very unquiet mother. Rita was flamboyant, and that hadn't changed when she adopted Harry; she liked her house to hold many colours, her wardrobe to do the same and her son to be the best dressed, most fashionable boy to be seen gracing the light of day. Anybody that met Harry said he was going to grow into a handsome, gorgeous young man and Rita had many offers from rich pureblood fathers, of daughters Harry's age, requesting family bond through marriage, however Rita always politely refused; Harry wasn't her own son, and she knew that Lilly and James would have wanted Harry to choose his own partner.

Today was one of those days where Rita was eager to do yet another thing, in public no less, with her son; it was to be lunch in Phillipa's Square, a high end shopping and restaurant district, which had a wonderful fountain with a statue in the middle of a beautiful woman: Phillipa, who was a pioneer in wealthy witches and wizards fashion. Most of the unique styles of wizarding clothing where first drawn, and made by Phillipa. It was rare to ever see anyone that didn't belong in Phillipa's square, and this made Harry feel very out of place, even though he was certainly one of the best dressed, most fawned over children in the country.

Harry had long ago refused to hold his mothers hand as they strolled around in public, however it didn't stop Harry from sticking close to Rita; as close as he could without looking like a sissy. He looked fondly around the square, which took on a look of Heaven when one thought about it; the shop fronts where all marble, and the shopping boutiques towered high over head. Arches coated in gold caught the sun and reflected it back into the eyes of people watching, and the beautiful sound of water falling on water could be heard when crossing the square; the fountain added such tranquillity to such a wonderful place. As Harry and Rita came close to a familiar restaurant, Harry began to smell an overwhelming aroma of spice; Harry loved spicy food, almost as much as he loved to fly a broom; his favourite hobby. Sunday mornings he would take to the skies around the large house he lived in, and fly circles around his mother if she happened to interrupt his flying.

One morning it happened, and Harry took advantage of his mother being fifty feet below her, that he began to feel surges of power unfelt by the small boy before. He shouted taunts at his mother; un-harmful but taunts nonetheless, and Harry seemed to forget to every now and then check the skies for looming signs of storm. His mother was sitting on the balcony, enjoying her solitary lunch of salad, but all her peaceful afternoon was forgotten when a bolt of lightening swarmed up around Harry, sending him flying forward and nearly crashing into the houses outer walls. Rita could only remember screaming, her heartbeat and the disappearance of Harry; she shook in that moment, determined not to believe. Harry, the '_little shit_' she called him under her breath, turned up five minutes laughing at his mothers misfortune; she forgot Harry could fly even half asleep; it was just the boy he was.

Rita directed Harry through the large restaurant, which was decorated in maroons and purples of the richest inks. Harry felt warm, even when it was cold outside, just by the décor of the restaurant and smiled at a familiar face as he looked to where he and his mother were headed. It was his best friend; Draco Malfoy! Harry didn't get to see the young blonde often, but when he did he was privileged and he knew it. Draco had a cool streak Harry felt he too possessed; something offered to the world with a backhand slap. There was something about the boys that screamed for the world to look at them, and it did with its consequences.

"Rita!" Called the woman sitting next to Draco. It was his mother, Narcissa. She was a beautiful woman with long, wavy blonde hair and stunning blue eyes her son Draco had too. Rita strode comfortable over to Narcissa, who stood and kissed her friend on the cheek whilst Draco looked up, smiling at the grinning Harry, before the brunette turned to Narcissa and greeted her politely.

"Harry." Draco greeted properly, with a nod of his head. Harry responded with a grin, and reached for the menu, as he always did in desperate attempt to get the gorgeous food down his throat.

"My dad brought me an owl for school!" Draco exclaimed, his hand raising slightly in happy gesture towards his statement. Harry smiled, as he too had an owl that he was intending to take to school with him; a beautiful black bird called Spider.

"Yeah, I got one too! It's called Spider and it's black!" Draco smiled cutely at Harry, his head soon dipping to the menu. Harry looked at Draco, the stare a little elongated, before he too looked to the list of food.

"Your having the same as always, Harry! We all know that!" Draco said not looking up.

"Shut up, git." Harry growled, in a friendly way and what he believed was a low voice, but his safety was lost when his mother reprimanded him with a sharp 'Harry!', before forgetting her son to talk to her own friend.

"Loser." Draco responded cheerfully, before they laughed together for a while; forgetting the outside world.

Harry and Draco talked animatedly for a while, before it was time to order and _both_ the boys ordered the same thing they always did. Draco asked Harry about school, and whether he was looking forward to it. Harry, with a manner of reluctance, replied that he was looking forward to school; just not all the stares he would receive. Most of their conversation was taken up with Quidditch, and Harry whished he had broadened their talk as Rita stood up to leave. Harry felt his life fall in slow motion as she and Narcissa hugged, and he looked over to Draco with saddened eyes knowing this would be the last time he would talk to his friend until school, also knowing it would be lonely without their usual escapades this summer. Something had changed in their play-dates, and it wasn't the same as the summers before where once a week they might see each other.

There was something else though, that Harry couldn't ignore. He knew instinctively when he met the Malfoys that his friendship with any of them would end ultimately. Like a faint smell, he could sense that there was something dark about Draco's family, and he also knew if that trait lay in Draco he wouldn't be able to tell until Draco was mature enough. It was obvious that the blonde had some dark themes, which Harry shared in some aspects but detested in others. That wouldn't change the fact they were best friends, even though the upcoming school year would; Harry was about to be plagued with rumours every day and Draco was going into Slytherin.

Something was up with his mother, which was the other thing Harry was concerned about as the world began to go slow. She was clinging a little longer than she should on Mrs. Malfoy, and the normally composed Narcissa was teary eyed, and shaking a little. Harry knew, being smart as he was, that this wasn't only his last day as friends with the Slytherin's; it was his mothers as well. It was the faint smell again; the stain on the air he couldn't ignore. Rita tugged Harry's shoulder lightly, whilst she still looked at Mrs. Malfoy, and Harry looked with a fake grin at his (sometimes) oblivious friend, who was filling in his duty to being blonde well today. "I'll see you at school, Harry!" Draco said animatedly, and Harry smiled whilst coming out of his daze and nodded. He found humour in Draco saying that, because he would indeed see Draco in school, but school wasn't going to be the time they shared last summer, or over the past Christmas holiday either.

Harry found it almost impossible to comprehend as he walked away from the restaurant, that it was the last time. He had an itch, as he felt tears behind his eyes, that he should bury himself in literature and text books until the guilt and sadness ran away from him. He felt pushed to do so as his mother took him into a small shop for the beginning of his school supplies, and he felt distressed as she dawdled outside a shop, looking in as if inspecting something eye catching to pop into her vision any moment. It frightened Harry that she had no more tears, or no more frown lines on her face and she was acting normal, so much so that he really could have been watching someone else's mother. "Come on Mom!" Harry protested as he looked around wildly, hoping not to catch a glimpse of Draco again, because if he did he would surely ache inside. At the same time he wanted to see Draco, because with morbid fascination he wanted to see if he could mentally challenge the blonde to reject Slytherin and fall into the place Harry would end up in. It was going to be hard to not have Draco by his side as his mischief partner, as the blonde was the only one that understood Harry. The brunette suddenly became very uncomfortable in his skin, in his rather cool sneakers, in his wonderful long sleeved t-shirt, in his little space in the world. Harry felt alone.

Despair like a curtain between the world and he, tied a knot in his stomach, but the feeling was remedied when he realised he had been apparated home and was now in the arms of his mother, who was openly crying her eyes out. Harry let go of himself and let his tears fall down. Harry was a smart boy, oh yes he was but he wasn't always emotionally strong. He smelt something untoward on his mother, but there was no real smell. He watched as she pulled back and smiled hopingly, yet sadly at her son. Harry tried to read what that smile meant, but he wasn't sure. It was almost sadistic, maniacal in a way and in that moment she seemed as creepy as her Animagus form; a beetle. Rita bent down on her knees in front of Harry, and looked for a moment as if she was to beg redemption for a crime she didn't commit.

Rita sucked in a long breath, and Harry knew that in her most saddened moments she did this to make herself feel as if she could talk. The mothering Rita was barmy; the sad Rita was horrifying. "Harry," She began slowly, "There is something I need to tell you." Harry froze the water around him with his emotions; the flowers were caked in ice where they sat in vases around the living room. Rita scrunched her face up in anticipation for the violent attack of magic which was sure to be released, especially if she angered Harry.

"It's about Draco, and the Malfoys isn't it?" He asked knowingly. Rita nodded, waiting to see if Harry could guess anymore. Harry took this as a sure sign he should speak, so he hazard a guess of which he was sure to crush him. "I'm never going to see Draco again, am I?"

Rita couldn't help it; she burst into tears at the voice Harry used when he spoke, the look he gave of utter impossibility. Rita let her tears trail on, as she couldn't stop and it felt like rivers where falling down her cheeks just to drain all her happiness out. "You will see Draco, Harry but it will be hard. You will see him everyday until you graduate nearly… You have to deny Draco's hand in friendship, when he asks you in front of your year to be friends, Harry… and you have to refuse it." Rita sobbed hard for a while, and Harry was in shock so he just backed away in fear, "You have to forget that you ever met Draco and pretend… you can't like him anymore!" Rita sobbed into her hands, whilst Harry held back his tears in defiance.

"He's my best friend!" Harry yelled, loosing his balance and sending waves of magic crashing into the floor, "The only real friend I have, and you want to take him away?"

Rita interrupted before Harry could speak again, "It isn't me, Harry. The Dark Lord is returning; he is already here…"

Harry didn't need telling twice. Harry, after all was a smart boy. He returned to his room, feebly attempting not to cry whilst the only thing he wanted to do was just that. Before Harry's hand landed on the door handle he was struck with an idea! He could fire call Draco and together they could find a plan out of this. Harry had been contemplating the idea for very long until he reached the private living room of his mothers, rushing inside knowing she wouldn't follow him upstairs for a while with him as angry as he was. Harry nearly tripped on the pink carpet as he stung the way to the fire, and it hurt when he stubbed his toe on the corner of the table leg however, nothing would slow him down now.

Harry had barely reached inside the floo powder pot, when the green magic was flung into the fire, followed by Harry's head right into the flames which hit the softened coals at the bottom of the furnace, hurting Harry badly. It was no deterrent; he called out the address for Draco's private rooms and waited longer than he had ever done. Three minutes he was impatient, five minutes he was angry, seven minutes and he was devastated and within ten minutes of waiting, Harry had pulled out his head from the cool fire; he was weeping out loudly, shouting between sobs one name…'Draco!'.

Three months passed like a quick broom ride: uninteresting but quick none-the-less. Harry hid himself away for a few hours after the day he said goodbye to Draco, but soon got hungry and appeared downstairs, where he found his mum and forgave her. Harry was awfully sorry that things had turned out the way they did, and so he kept his better attitude for his mother those few months, before he stood outside _Flourish and Blotts _waiting to buy his school books. The line was long, and Harry wondered why his mother wouldn't of come on a less busy day, especially if Voldemort was about and ready to try and kill Harry himself.

The hot London summers day smelt funny to Harry; as if watchfulness was in the air. It made Harry uncomfortable, especially after he came out of the book store and turned with his mother to enter his final destination of the day, (and Harry's most awaited shop), Olivander's. Harry gave a great smile as he saw the sign hanging over the door, waving in the wind. However, Harry was awash with an uneasy feeling as his mothers hand connected to the door handle leading into the wand shop. Eyes were upon Harry; he could feel it burning through the back of his mind. He knew there was someone, who wasn't just a customer or clerk! He knew it was a _spy_…! Harry gasped as his realisation, as he slowly moved into the shop, ready to kick the balls of whoever was in there however, he had to gasp again when he saw someone six times his size, whistling like he was just going to step on Harry, without a second thought! Harry felt so much worse now; there was a _giant_ in the shop! "Come on Harry!" His mother scolded, to which Harry obeyed dutifully.

Harry directed his thoughts to Olivander, his gaze darting around the shop in a futile attempt to find the man, who would provide Harry with a wand and in turn provide Harry with a new freedom that all little boys and girls his age where about to feel too. Harry's mother had already ambled up to the counter and was peering around the rows of wands, stacked on shelves a plenty, looking for Mr. Olivander. Harry moved quickly towards Rita whilst avoiding the burning notion that he was being watched ruthlessly.

"Ahh, Ms. Skeeter, how is your fine badger-claw wand?" Olivander's eyes glittered as he talked to Rita, and one could tell that the old man was fond of the woman. Harry looked directly at Olivander, his gaze unmoving and Olivander didn't miss the attention he was getting from the small brunette. The older mans blue eyes sunk round to Harry, and upon seeing the scar on Harry's head he smiled; the moment had come to meet Harry Potter. "How are you, Harry?"

Harry beamed and stepped closer, his black hair flopping as he bounced unevenly in his eleven year old height. "I'm excited!" Harry exclaimed, his hand rising in the air in what seemed a salute. Olivander nodded, and began inspecting the small boys magical field. The green eyes of Harry looked around nervously as the seconds passed on, and Olivander; he could see the same colour green that's in Harry's eyes, around the boy himself. But the green wasn't the only colour that surrounded Harry; there was rich blue and bright ivory. Olivander's head began ticking, as Harry's magic began pulsing and soon an array of colours began showing, all the richest of its kind.

Then, like a bright light, Olivander realised something rather special: Harry potter was _powerful_, and not just the bog standard power either! No, this power was something altogether unique, and because of that Harry needed a rather unique wand too! Olivander took off to inspect his many shelves for the wands he had in mind. Meanwhile, Harry heard the door open again and someone step out. He whipped his head about, to see if it was the giant that had walked out of the shop, and he saw that it was indeed! What a relief, he thought before Olivander walked in holding a fair few boxes.

"Here we go, Mister Potter." Olivander held out a polished redwood wand, with a curl to the handle. Harry reached out eagerly, but the wand seemed to reflect off his hand and into Olivander's head. Harry let out a giggle unconsciously, but stifled it at his mothers stern look. A few moments passed where Olivander eliminated a few wands from his pile, then handed another to Harry.

Cautious this time, Harry went slowly with his hand towards the greenish wand. When it dropped into his hand, he smiled as he felt a surge of tingles down his spine. Knowledgeably he gave the wand a point, his legs slightly apart and he aimed at a vase of flowers on the counter. Blue sparks flew out the wand tip, and smacked into the vase making it break, the pieces falling to the floor. "No!" Cried Olivander, "Absolutely not!" And once again the balding man scurried off to find another wand. Harry felt down heartened at the time being taken to find his wand, because it was the one thing he was looking forward to! Harry looked up at his mother with sad eyes, but she ignored it like she always did. Harry noticed that she had the look she got when she was taking mental notes, and he knew then at that moment that something was going on in Diagon Alley today.

"Here, Mister Potter, try this one!" Olivander held two wands in his hands; one made of a gold coloured wood, and one an ebony wand that looked like it was made of the stone. Harry grasped the gold one first, and waved it elegantly. The foundations of the building shook, and Harry almost threw the wand back on to the counter at the sheer shock of it. Olivander looked down at the boy, shook his head and held out the ebony wand. Harry felt like something clicked when the wand fell into his hand, not just with the associating magic, but with something in his head.

A smell, which wasn't a smell but a sense, appeared near Harry and whipping his head around he smiled. Draco, he thought. Draco was near, and he knew it, and there was something sweet in knowing that. It felt to Harry as if he was coming into Olivander's too, and he smiled again at that notion; he forgot precisely that he was in the shop, with his mother and Olivander looking him expectantly.

But all had to be forgotten, as a flush of blonde hair appeared outside the shop, walking not in the direction of the door, but carrying on in a hurry to what looked like Knockturn Alley. How dare he, thought Harry who took no haste in raising his wand in the stance of a trained wandsman, and pointed it at Draco. Harry blinked, and after he opened them Draco was on the floor, stiff. Harry, in shock, stood stock still whilst his mother shared the same gasping expression as Olivander.

"That wand, Ms. Skeeter, is the twin wand of You-Know-Who. The phoenix that gave that wand its feather only gave one other feather…"

"And he has it?" Rita asked aghast! Harry whipped his head around, in question of something awry in his head.

"That is your wand Harry!" Olivander exclaimed, clapping his hands together and setting about repairing some damage. Harry shook his head in wonder, but felt too much happiness at finally having his wand that he forgot all about Draco; just for a moment. And giants, yes; he forgot about them too!

Harry was strolling by his mother's side, through the busy Kings Cross station, towards platform _Nine and Three Quarters_. A specific buzz accompanied the moment, as he looked over the Muggle fast food chains and newsagents that littered the sides of the station, all creating a neon glow of superficiality around themselves. Harry's mother didn't take notice of the Muggle delights, even though her eccentric clothing fitted in neatly with the reds and blues of _Burger King_. Harry, as innocent as he was, wondered what a Burger King was, but he seemed to rationalise it as a superior treat, and if the smell coming from the tucked in restaurant was anything to go by, it certainly was a something to drool over. Promptly, Harry's mouth started watering.

"Not today, Harry!" Rita chided as she saw Harry's form slow down right in front of the stand. Harry gave a frown, but he decided not to annoy his mother on the last day he was to see her, until Christmas came and with the new excitement of Hogwarts, Christmas was a long way away. Harry whipped his head around, clearing the thoughts, and upon turning he saw his mother scuttling away to the barrier. Harry ran to keep up, and skidded through with lightening speed and precision after Rita. Harry met a sea of faces, bodies and luggage, and the sound of cheerful people set about Harry's ears in a dizzying wave. The brief his mother gave him, before she sent him off to bed last night, hadn't disposed of the fact he had to refuse Draco's hand in friendship, and there was nothing Harry could do to see a way out of the predicament he was in. As his mother guided him to a safe spot on the platform, Harry did not look around for a sign of Draco, even though his heart called for him to do so.

"Harry, you all set?" Rita asked in her last talk with her son before he alighted the train. Harry nodded, looking up at his mother with big eyes. "Okay then, write me tonight and tell me what house you're in, okay?" Harry beamed with excitement, before hugging his mother briefly and alighting the train.

The train interior, Harry noted, was reds and dusty blacks. It looked like any normal train, but like the magical towns and shopping districts Harry had been to before, he sensed the magic sticking to every crevice of the old train. Harry bumbled with his trunk, looking to his right to find an empty compartment. After walking through a crowd of giggling girls, from one of the years above, Harry got fed up with his search and almost threw his trunk into a compartment with a glum looking redhead. "Can I sit in here?" Harry asked the redhead, his breath raspy. The boy looked up, his face sour like he had spent his solitary time sucking lemons, and nodded; his freckled face lit up in the light from the window.

Harry sat down in one swift motion, his breath coming back and his eagerness to see Hogwarts, for the very first time in person, brimming. He smiled, content in his own skin, before reaching into the smaller bag he had brought with him, and finding a huge tome titled _Hogwarts: A history_. The redhead opposite looked at the book on Harry's knee, slight confusion on his face before recognition swept over. He looked around for a few seconds, not knowing quite what to say and in turn whether he should say anything at all. Harry's eyes leapt into the book, his orbs scanning down a page, before he came to the right location of the exact thing he was looking for. Turning through the large book, he came across the section titled '**_Ravenclaw'_**, in big blue letters, and he looked with fondness at the picture of the houses founder, Rowena Ravenclaw, whose unmoving picture smiled at anyone looking at her. It crossed Harry's mind to not delve too much into the houses on the train, in fear of reading to much into what house he might prefer; a thought that could confuse the sorting hat, and land Harry somewhere he ought not to be.

"Interesting?" A voice spoke to Harry, across from the brunette who had forgotten he wasn't alone. It shocked a little, to hear the voice, but politely he looked up to the redhead and smiled.

"Yes, it is. Have you read it?" He asked, not really interested in the slightest, as Harry knew that the shelves that stocked the book, in all forms; from the original unedited to the smaller, compressed versions, had all been sold off to students that year about to attend Hogwarts. Harry guessed this boy had read it too, however he honestly couldn't care which way or the other because Harry knew, being smart as he was, that engrossing himself in a book, as far from the outside world as possible, would be the only way not to overflow with excitement.

"No," The redhead replied, "Never been that interested." The statement shook Harry a little, because he took it as the norm for people to be curious in everything; a quality he and Draco shared. "I don't really read books." The redhead added.

Harry smiled politely, and put his head down to continue reading, before the redhead spoke up again; his voice was rough but high and to Harry, he sounded like one of the boys he never had interest in playing with in the park; the kind of boy that wanted to rough and tumble harshly, instead of the friendly bouncy boy norm. "I'm Ron Weasley!" He exclaimed.

Harry looked up with uninterested eyes, but the look washed over Ron who grinned in waiting for Harry to respond. Lazily, Harry went back to his book and when his eyes finally rested on spot he had been broken from, he drawled out: "Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

Ron, in all his stupidity, couldn't help the comment that came next launching from his mouth. Fortunately, the poor language was lost on Harry as he couldn't understand mumbles of the desolate insane. Not that Harry was a boy in discriminatory attitude, but he had a tendency to stay away from those in need, which he deduced Ron must be due to the ratty look of everything around and on him. Harry was kind, he just had many bad experiences with people who wanted him for his money, and there was no doubt this boy would be the same. Judging by the awestruck sounds he was making, he knew there was no going back in his attitude towards this Ron and suddenly Harry felt no hope in giving this boy a chance.

"…So do you have the scar then?" Came the rushed, hyper sentence from Ron. Harry had been expecting that, yet the question still annoyed him beyond belief. Harry nodded; his head still down to avoid looking at the typical 'Its Harry Potter' look he always got from people without respect. He was a normal boy, with power beyond belief, but normal nonetheless and he didn't need the 'Oh my Merlin's!'

"Can I see it?" Ron asked happily. Harry lifted up his head slowly, pulled up the piece of hair that covered his scar before letting it flop back over his head again. Ron grinned, "Just like the rumour says!" He let out, before getting up and leaving the compartment. Harry felt dumbstruck, and sat in silence for a few seconds before letting his head fall back in the book, where he began to read about the legend that founded Ravenclaw. He was inspired with the story that Rowena herself was a rebel, especially against the anti-feminine attitude, back in the day when she grew up, and he liked the attitude a lot; his mother experienced prejudice from opposing journalists, thinking that a woman shouldn't flaunt herself the way Rita did. But to Harry, she was the most brilliant person in the world to do so and there wasn't anything that could stop that. Rita wasn't a normal woman, but she was kind and eccentric and Harry was following her in that trait, which was apparent from the shoes he wore on the train that day; out of the conventional Wizards dress, but they suited him and he liked them; he had never seen another Wizard wear them.

Things could change though: "Harry Potter wears Converse!" Exclaimed a voice from the doorway, to which Harry looked up, his eyes wide. He saw a collection of children his size staring at him intently, one of which had his mouth open wide. It was a boy of ethnic race; beautiful and in muggle clothes, and if Harry looked close enough, he could see paint on his fingers. "I am so getting some of those!" He added, before scuttling away.

All hell broke loose, as people started almost climbing into the small carriage, to ogle at Harry. He tried to ignore the kafuffle but with people treading on his feet, and pushing back his hair to see his scar, it was rather tough to just ignore them. They were exclaiming things loudly; almost shouting tid-bits of information that had circulated the Wizarding world about him for years; most of which were urban myths such as 'He was supposed to look like…him…' and so forth. Harry nearly lost it when a blonde girl, with over exposed skin for her age, cuddled up to him. He nearly blew her off too, when his magic overran and sent everybody three steps backwards. "Out, now!" He screamed to the idiots ogling him, and everybody was too shocked to disagree.

Except Ron, that is, who stayed like a lone sheep with a wolf half starved to death. Ron looked frightened out of his wits, and as he and Harry stared at each other for a few seconds, he shuffled from foot to foot. Harry was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly with the strain of exposed magic. "You too!" He directed, with his hand outstretched towards the door, "Now!" He shouted again, when the boy didn't move, and let out the last of his untamed magic towards the redhead so it pushed him in way to the door. Ron being clumsy smashed into the door, before heading back in quickly to retrieve his belongings, before hurtling out the door after the cacophony of people he had brought into the carriage.

Harry stared in direction of the door for a while, before settling back into his book for a solitary train ride. He wasn't disturbed again, except when the trolley lady stopped by to offer him some candy Harry really wasn't interested in. He bought some anyway, not knowing when the next time would be that he could buy some. Whilst opening his leather wallet to pay for his purchase, he noticed a lone space in section where it would be right to fit a picture. It was empty now that his mother made him burn any evidence that he was ever a friend, or rather ever the best friend, of one Draco Malfoy, that Harry quickly sensed sitting all the way down the train; the opposite end to Harry.


End file.
